


With your teeth at my neck

by Zebooboo



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21902416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zebooboo/pseuds/Zebooboo
Summary: A collection of smut prompts from twitter.Pairings and tags in each chapter's notes.
Relationships: Dredgen Vale/Dredgen Hope, Enoch Bast/Marcus Ren, Kabr/Pahanin/Praedyth (Destiny), Orsa Zyre (Destiny)/Callum Sol (Destiny), Renegade/Drifter, The Drifter/Shaxx (Destiny), The Drifter/Shin Malphur, Zyre Orsa (Destiny)/Germaine (Destiny)
Kudos: 79





	1. Orsa/Callum

**Author's Note:**

> prompt - evenly matched
> 
> handjobs, biting, holding down, small mention of blood, whispers

Orsa bites his lip with just enough force to make him bleed and Callum gasps, screwing his eyes shut when the whispers hiss loudly in his ears with the pain. He tightens the hold on Orsa's wrists, pulling them even higher over their heads and pulls back to mouth at Orsa's neck, leaving dark bruises from his jaw to his collarbone.

Orsa thrashes in his hold, muffling his groans by bitting his own lip and his boot catches against his armored knee. Callum huffs irritably and knocks him bodily against the wall, Orsa's head making a loud thud as it hits the ship's wall.

The pained yelp makes Callum lick his lips eagerly, tasting the copper and gets to unbuckling both their belts with his free hand. He looks up to see a dazed Orsa with a scrunched expression on his face that has nothing to do with the bump on his head and his heart seizes in his chest.

He feels the fine tremors running over the Hunter, pressed shoulder to toe as they are, even above most of the armor and he can't help ducking down to press their lips together again, chaste and gentle. Orsa tries to chase him, deepen the kiss, but Callum pulls back each time. He gets a whine out of the hunter every time and he can't help the smirk on his lips from widening.

When Orsa tries to wiggle out of his hold again with a growl, he takes the man's lip between his teeth hard, palming their straining cocks in a broad hand. Orsa makes a sound not unlike a wounded animal and a shiver wracks his body. Callum sucks at the broken lip, self-satisfied at their matching wounds and tags at their leaking dicks, his gloved hand gathering the pre beading from the heads to ease the way a bit.

He licks his way into Orsa's mouth, drinking his moans until he needs to break away for air. He drops his head into Orsa's shoulder and picks up the pace of his hand, every little sound spilling from Orsa like a balm for the whispers in his ears. He licks at the blood dripping down Orsa's neck and bites at the juncture harshly, spilling into his trembling fist with a groan.

A few slick pumps later and Orsa keens into his ear, going slack against him. They breath heavily for a few minutes and then Callum drops Orsa's wrists to take off his ruined gloves. He tosses them away and then a thumb is on his lip, pressing into the broken skin and coming away bloody. He watches Orsa press it to his own bloody mouth with a razor smile.

"We match."


	2. Marcus/Enoch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt - fire
> 
> anal sex, celebratory sex, lightplay

Their kiss is full of cinders and wispy flames, wasping over their lips and drying the moisture from Marcus' tongue. He chases the heat past Enoch's teeth, pressing against him harder and he wants nothing more than to melt into Enoch's chest.

The exhilaration from the race still thrums in his veins, flying past every single other racer like the wind all the way to the front, alone winning. Until he wasn't, until he didn't. Until Enoch had pulled up to him, incrementally chipping away at the distance between them and if Marcus had tried he could have hooked his fingers under Enoch's racing armor and elation had loosened his fingers from from the throttle.

He'd stood there, right before the finish line, his heart beating a frantic staccato beat in his throat and tears welling in his eyes and the only reason he'd pushed past the line hadn't been the confused commentators or the crowd echoing in his ears or even the roar of the approaching Sparrows. It'd been Enoch, staring back at him with such a happy and lost expression on his face that he neeeded to get to him, pull him along, hug him and kiss him and scream, 'YES, YOU WON, I LOVE SO MUCH YOU DID IT, YES!'.

And it was exactly what he did, pulling an equaly babbling and grinning Enoch inside, past the crowding reporters and the adoring fans and up, up, up and he could hardly get his eyes and hands off the titan. He doesn't know if they found anybody in the corridors but when the door closed behind them Enoch had him cradled between his arms and the light was warming a bit too fast between them for clothes to survive with two solar Guardians.

Enoch's knees found the edge of the bed and they'd tumbled down in a heap of limbs and giggles and smoldering touches. And so what if Marcus had been too eager, too impatient to wait for Enoch to stretch him out properly and he'd yelped in pain when he'd sunk down on him? Enoch had reached up to cradle his jaw and whisper sweetly at him and Marcus had choked on his tears and kissed him deeply and it was already forgotten.

This time wasn't like the others, it was not halting, or uncertain, or with Marcus pushing too much, or Enoch holding too much. And it was both too much and too little, with Enoch's broad palms on his hips, his mouth on his chest and the uneven, hurried pace of their moving hips.

Marcus digs his fingers in Enoch's shoulder, arching over him to reach his ear and talk every happy and adoring thought he could think of with halting breath. Enoch chuckles and then his thrusts stutter and warmth blooms inside Marcus. He shudders and then chokes, Enoch has wrapped his fingers around his straining cock and it takes no more than two small pumps for him to paint their bellies white. He almost wants to feel bad about it.

But Enoch's warm fingers on his back are too distracting for Marcus to care much. He presses their foreheads together, running thumbs over Enoch's smiling mouth and flushed cheeks and he can't help the bubble of warmth in his chest from expanding.


	3. Renegade/Drifter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - unsaid
> 
> bound, knives, lightplay, handjobs

It was much later, after the time in his small alleyway, after the setup for Gambit, after becoming used to a partner, after the letter on his workbench, when Drifter lifted his head from the wires of the Annex's decorative bank, to see Renegade darkening his doorstep again.

He bristles at the sight of him, hand falling to sit on Malfeasance's handle openly. It was a silent warning as much as a promise. Only the man didn't do anything, just tilted his head and closed the door to his little Annex space. He hardly seemed bothered with Drifter baring his teeth at him in a snarl.

He pulls the gun out, taking a few long strides across the small space, leveling the barrel between where the Renegade's (Shinshinshinshi-) eyes would be. They stay like that, with Drifter straining to not tremble from rage and the terror in his belly and the Renegade's blank helmet looking back at him, even if he feels the man's eyes boring into him. He gets the distinct feeling from those relaxed shoulders that the bastard is amused.

A tremor runs over his arm and then the shot is already gone, hitting the wall, with his wrist already throbbing from the Renegade's vice grip on it. Drifter wants to thrash and kick and curse at him, but he's tripped down on the floor before he can even understand what's going on, the Renegade's chestplate weighing down his back.

Drifter bucks, tries to throw the hunter off him, only for a blade to come to rest against his throat, not digging into his skin, just there as a precaution. He freezes, sweat beading in his neck, as Renegade peels his fingers from Malfeasance and sets it to the side, almost respectfully and then fingers are at his neck, pulling his necklace off.

He's pulled to his feet and the crimson cord is looped round and round over his wrists behind his back. Drifter's breaths come in ragged and his eyes try to track the Renegade's movements behind his back, until he is bent over the rail, metal digging into his stomach unpleasantly and the knife is whisked away, replaced with a hand around his neck.

Drifter grunts, opens his mouth to curse at him but bites his own lip, thinking better of it. He can't bite back the yelp when Renegade unceremoniously takes ahold of him, half-hard, over his pants. A flush creeps up from under his collar, lighting his face on fire, partly from shame and partly from anger at himself at how much he's enjoying being manhandled.

He pants as Renegade tags at his shaft awkwardly and then pulls off his belts and sash open, dropping them to the ground. The hand at his neck leaves for all of two seconds and a whine spills from his lips before he can even realise it has escaped.

He hears a chuckle over the roar in his ears and then the hand returns to his neck and cold metal brushes his ear.

"Don't worry, I won't tell on you."

Whatever words of outrage bubbled in Drifter's chest were gone the moment a warm hand curled around his cock, stroking him firmly. Renegade drapes himself over Drifter's back, weighing him down on the rail, a knee fits between his legs and soothing circles are rubbed over his pulse on his throat.

Drifter swallows the moans and the hisses and he'll deny how much relief he feels at the familiar lines against him, even hidden beneath armor, to his fucking grave. He chokes when a thumb swipes over his slit and then warmth lights in the Renegade's palm and he's gone. Gone, as in his vision blacks out and his knees are trembling and it's as if the oxygen has disappeared from his lungs.

It takes a small eternity, but he regains some feeling just as Renegade is moving him off the rail, supporting most of his weight on his knee. Then they're on the floor and Drifter is cradled in the circle of the Renegade's arms and it feels so good he closes his eyes and pretends he's still out of it, just to steal a couple more moments of this. Even if he's screaming at himself to move, to get up, run, kick, anything, anything...

A small flicker of transmat light prompts him to open his eyes and he gets a glimpe of mussed brown hair and pale skin before there's a pair of lips at his neck, planting a lingering kiss. Fingers curl over his eyes and then those lips are over his own. Undemanding and featherlight.

It almost feels like an apology.


	4. Vale/Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - maybe
> 
> masturbation, choking, asphyxia, denial

Vale finds Hope lingering in the shadows of Bane's library. He's leafing absently through a book Vale doesn't pretend to understand, and he hasn't noticed him watching. There's a furrow between the man's brows, at times pausing to read a passage and others snorting in a unamused way.

Vale's eyes linger on the lines on the man's face, tired and deep. He wonders how it would feel to smooth them out with his thumb. He catches himself and leaves before Hope has the chance to see him.

That night he skates his fingers over his hips, into the junction of his thighs and buries his face in his pillow to muffle his broken whines at the aching of his untouched cock. He cuts his own breath off into the bed, tapping the pads of his fingers over his belly, pinches at his nipples and in his addled brain he is not alone.

His eyes open, hazy from the lack of oxygen and the unending denial he's set up for himself, and looks at the Thorn on his bedside table, not yet passed to Hope.

The mere idea of that gun in Hope's hands comes like a punch to the gut. His dick twitches and cum drips from the tip onto his sheets slowly. All his muscles are coiled tight and still he smothers himself into the bedding.

Vale blacks out and when he wakes up his belly is crusted up with dried come and his head pounds something fierce. When he runs his hand over his thigh, and it's still only his touch, he hates himself a little more.

-

Hope catches Vale leaving Bane's room with his scarf around his neck and not pulled up over the bridge of his nose and is struck still. His mind blanks at the features revealed, even if his thoughts never quite lingered on them more than as a passing interest.

Now he can't wrench his eyes away. Taken in by the dark bangs under the man's eyes, his mouth pulled into a thin, sad line, his eyes downcast.

He swallows thickly and turns on his heel. And when he wakes up in the middle of the night to unbearable heat and a throbbing cock in his pants he hisses and snakes a hand under the covers to grasp himself with a curse.

Damn his mind and damn his curiosity and craving of someone, anyone like him. He throws an arm over his eyes and pumps himself quickly, get this over with. He flicks a nail over the crown and he bucks into his own touch with a gasp.

He pants and picks up the pace, twisting his hand over every pass hard. A flash of Vale's pinched, unhappy look pops in his mind unbidden, and he fixates on the line of the man's jaw, the slant of his eyes, the curl of the lips and he wonders how soft they would be.

He chokes down a moan and spills into his fist, starbursts flickering behind his eyelids. He sucks in shuddering breaths and pulls off the covers to go change with a grimace.

He almost wishes he hadn't seen that face.

-

When they notice each other Hope is hastily shoving his supplies in his ship, too late in the night for even Bane to be stalking the corridors.

Hope freezes like a rabbit in front of the fox. His traitorous ming jumps to Vale's covered face, wondering if he could beg a kiss before his death.

He swallows down a hysterical laugh, tensing with every step that Vale takes closer. The Shadow stops just shy of Hope, their chests just barely not brushing with every breath.

Vale carefully, slowly pulls a gun, holding it gingerly and offers it to Hope.

"It remains yours."

Hope collects it with trembling fingers, not breaking eye-contact for a second. They look at each other, both searching for something they don't know how to find.

Vale seems to duck down but no, he's stepping back, turning away and closing the doors to the small hangar. Hope rushes to his ship and is out of the Shadow's base before he can let yearning get the better of him and chase after Vale for something he can't have and can't ask.

The question of what might have happened if they hadn't walked away, runs over and over in their minds, incessant and loud. 


	5. Drifter/Shaxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - gamble
> 
> spanking, anal fingering, fingerfucking, not so much aftercare tbh

Drifter smirks when he drops his cards on the table, leaning back in his chair smugly. Shaxx stares at them, then back up at his own hand slowly.

"You are aware there cannot be six of these cards in a deck that has five." He drops his own cards on the table and Drifter's smile widens.

"And who's to say you can't spice up the game a little bit?" He watches, amused, as Shaxx gets up and rounds the table to lean over Drifter's chair menacingly. The titan's fingers slide slowly beneath his headband, pulling it down until it covers his eyes, then they skate down to wrap around his throat.

Drifter's breath hitches and then he chokes as he's yanked to his feet. The tips of Shaxx's fingers will probably leave ugly bruises, like a brand, over the pale column of his throat and he shivers at the idea.

"If it's spice you want..." The voice rumbles next to his ear and it sounds loud enough for Drifter to flinch. Still, he allows Shaxx to move him around, feels Shaxx step around him and then he's awkwardly laid over Shaxx's knee, the armor digging painfully into his stomach.

An arm rests over his shoulders, keeping Drifter down while the other travels curiously over his backside, dipping over ribs and following the line of his hips until it fondles the swell of his ass. Drifter groans low when those fingers knead the meat of his backside, smoothing a palm up and down over it again and again.

Then it stops enough to untie his sash and belts and push his robes to the side. His pants are skinned roughly down to his knees and then a naked palm gropes at him again, rolling his flesh over and over between his fingers. Drifter moans at the sure grip, the careful slide of the knuckles over his entrance and his taint. His cock twitches against Shaxx's thigh.

"...then it's spice you'll get." A palm cracks over the meat of his ass and Drifter arches. He chokes a broken sound around his teeth and then it escapes when Shaxx slaps it again, with a touch less force. He is held down by the hand on his shoulders and he turns to muffle his cries between his arm and Shaxx's thigh as the pain steadily subsides and is replaced only by feeling and the rhythmic rocking of his body accepting the blows.

Sweat falls from his forehead down to his headband and beading against his neck. Drifter feels the flush over his face, his neck, his ass and his waist. The slaps echo in his ears.

After a particularily hard blow knocks the breath from his lungs Shaxx stops, his hand runs over his throbbing cheeks once and then rubs soothing circles on Drifter's waist. Drifter trembles and pants hard and even his teeth chatter from the intensity until he manages to regain his breath.

Shaxx talks, but the sound is warbled and Drifter shakes his head once, twice and grunts out muzzily, "What..?"

Again Shaxx talks, slower and as clear as he can, "Are you ready?"

Drifter wants to throw a weird look over his shoulder but then remembers his eyes are covered and instead asks, "For what?"

Shaxx rubs a finger over the ring of his entrance and Drifter whines and pushes against it. A chuckle sounds and then fingers are teasing his lips. Drifter sucks on them eagerly, lapping up each finger individually, coating them with as much saliva as he can. They curl against his teeth and push against his tongue and then they're gone.

Instead they poke at his ass, one slowly pushing inside, twisting in easily. A second follows it and then Drifter's back curls along with them. Shaxx pumps them a couple of times, stretching his hole enough for a third to wiggle in and Drifter shivers, panting uselessly. The hand on his shoulders moves at last, rubbing down his back, loosening his collar until his shoulders are bare.

After a moment of stillness Drifter pushes against them and Shaxx indulges him, pressing inside and scissoring him slowly, slowly and agonisingly.

Then a wave of pleasure crashes over Drifter and he gasps and moans until it passes. His half-hard cock twitches back to fullness and starts dripping against Shaxx's thigh. He arches as Shaxx zeroes in on the bundle of nerves and teases his fingertips over them again and again and again.

Drifter's back spams and his breath is not enough for his lungs when his orgasm hits, splattering come on Shaxx's leg and the ground. He slumps against the uncomfortable armor and waits for the haze to lift from his head.

Shaxx carefully pulls out his fingers and rubs slow circles over his back and tense shoulders until he does.


	6. Shin/Drifter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - blackout
> 
> frotting, anal sex, biting

He doesn't want to say the sudden lack of light startled Shin, but the sharp change of lighting on Drifter's face had him doubting for a moment that they were tucked away in the back room of the Annex, grinding against each other, and not in some shadowed corner in a ship with whispering walls.  
  
His hips stutter and for a moment he's looking at Hope's eyes. Always lightless, but just a bit more unfathomable. Then Drifter grunts, his fingers digging into his bare hips, tugging him closer.  
  
"Little darkness got you spooked hotshot?" The whisper is closer to a sneer than simply teasing. The corner of Shin's mouth twitches and he rolls his hips, dragging his straining cock against Drifter's. He catches the end of Drifter's muffled groan and dips down to run his tongue over his throat, nipping with gentle teeth until Drifter snakes a hand between them to grasp their cocks together.  
  
He bites down and closes his eyes. It's dark and he can barely see anything anyway. Instead he peppers Drifter's neck and shoulder with kisses and bites, running his hands over the man's back, dragging his nails down to his waist, up again and gripping his waist. His hips follow the jerky pace Drifter is setting them on.  
  
At some point he gets distracted enough by the fingers dragging over his length that his hands still on Drifter's hips and he rests his forehead in Drifter's neck, panting. There's a nail dragging itself over his slit and he sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. That's quite enough teasing.  
  
Shin hooks a leg around Drifter, tripping them onto the ratty bed. Drifter goes down hard and Shin falls on top of him, straddling his hips. He stops him from sitting up with a hand on his chest, pushing Drifter down and the snarl drops from Drifter's face, suspicion replacing it.  
  
Shin drags his hips slowly over Drifter's while he gropes around the sheets for the forgotten lube. Shadowed eyes follow his movements and hands trail over his thighs, holding hard enough to bruise. He tosses the bottle aside after wetting his fingers, dragging the slick digits over his entrance before pushing inside, impatient and eager and all too aroused to care. Drifter drags his nails over his sides and those dark eyes watching him in the shadows make a ball of arousal clench in Shin's belly.  
  
He does the bare minimum to stretch himself out before he scoots forward and he promptly sinks on Drifter's length. Strangled gasps fall from both their lips, Shin tense, muscles seizing. The hold Drifter has on his sides starts hurting and his face is scrunched up.  
  
When he tentatively starts moving Drifter keeps his hips in a vice grip and eyes narrowed at him. He can feel himself grinning back as he moves in Drifter's lap, completely unrepentant. He chases his pleasure and taking Drifter along for the ride whether he wants it or not.  
  
He pants and curses and he puts his hands on Drifter's shoulders for balance and stops caring as his vision bursts into stars and he paints their bellies white. There's a muffled groan in his ear as Drifter pounds into him for a few more desperate thrusts before he tenses and wet heat spills into him.  
  
Shin has his eyes closed against Drifter's shoulder when the world lights up. He blinks against the sudden brightness. Shin scrunches his nose and buries his face into Drifter's neck and he hears the man chuckle.


	7. Zyre Orsa/Germaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - 'you look good with smeared makeup'
> 
> frotting, handjobs

Germaine lingers in the back as the Risen walk in Eaton. They come on foot, down from the northern mountains, with eyes dark and full of questions unspoken. He listens as the less reserved one introduces himself as Zyre Orsa, and his sullen companion as Teben Grey.  
  
Won't be staying long they say, just to scout the area and then move along. A day, maybe two. Germaine can't wait to see them go.  
  
Instead they get snowed in, as if winter followed the Risen down from the peaks. Judson grumbles, incessant and annoying, but at least the heavy snow muffles his complaints, keeps him inside his home.  
  
It's been four days and the scowl on Grey's face has become scary, frightened Yu twice by now and she stays home to avoid the man. Not that he ventures outside the repurposed barn the villagers had cleared out for the travelers a whole lot. Just scribbles in his notes by candle light and huddles with Zyre, talking in low murmurs. Keeps to himslef that one.  
  
Except Zyre doesn't. He walks around the village, snow melting with every step and he shoves his nose into everybody's business. He helps thatch roofs, he shovels snow from front porches, moves wood and sacks of supplies with nary a complaint when the people catch wind of him lurking about like a kicked dog.  
  
He almost seems content to be doing chores, getting put to work on as mundane tasks as they could. Germaine keeps a wary eye on him, something didn't sit well with him about that one.  
  
And now he's still watching him, Zyre sitting across from him, holding Germaine's cards in his hands, shuffling them and reshuffling them, over and over for something to do. It was getting late, most have already gone to sleep and, typically, so would have Germaine and even Zyre.  
  
Only reason the man was even here was because he got asked to bring Germaine some supplies and he'd felt courteous enough to offer the man a drink before he left. Ward off the freezing cold and all that. But now, they lingered in Germaine's shack with only the light pattering of snow falling on the roof and Germaine's busted lamp to keep them company in the cold.  
  
Zyre rubs a hand into his eye and Germaine can't hold back the snort when the kohl rubs into the socket, giving him the impression of having a black eye. Zyre raises a brow at him, "What's funny?"  
  
"You and your black eye. Get into fights often?" He barks a laugh at his own joking. Zyre blinks at him, confused, until he looks at his hand and sees the black smear on it and sighs, dejected or just too tired and cold to reply.  
  
Zyre brings his glass back to his lips to gulp down the last of his drink, the faint shine of colour on his lips spreading even more on the rim. Germaine's mouth dries when Zyre sets the glass down and the colour on his bottom lip is dripping down his chin, the alcohol making it thin and when Zyre tries to wipe it away he just spreads it even more.  
  
"Thanks for the drink, but it's late, gonna let you sleep." When he makes to get up Germaine follows him, grabbing a clean rug from the sink and getting it a bit damp.  
  
"Wait, wait, come here, you look a mess. Gonna give somebody a heart attack, walking around like that in the dark." He motions for the man to lean down, holding up the rug like a threat.  
  
Zyre blinks at him, mouth opening and closing for a moment wordlessly. Then he huffs a laugh and holds still, clearly amused. Germaine feels a bit defensive suddenly, with those dark eyes looking at him expectantly, so he shoves the rug right into Zyre's eye.   
  
Or near enough for the man to flinch back. He grabs the Risen's chin to keep him still and wipes the black from his eye, dabbing it over cheeks dusty from the day's work.  
  
He wipes the man's face, clearing away makeup and dirt both, revealing tiny imperfections, hidden away. A tiny mole under a brow, a thin scar high on a cheekbone, a dusting of freckles over a nose. Germaine slows down, cataloguing them all, barely noticing Zyre staring back at him evenly, curiously.  
  
Germaine's eyes fall to Zyre's lips, colour still spread all over and he runs his thumb over them, catching the dark red on it, transfixed.  
  
Fingers curl around his wrists and his fingers drag over Zyre's chin, until his thumb is caught between the man's teeth and suddenly he feels flushed and hot. Zyre's tongue pressing against the pad of his thumb gets him to snap back into himself, pulling off, taking a hurried step back.  
  
But he doesn't get far, his wrists still in Zyre's hold. A trembling laugh spills, "H-hey friend, sorry about that, didn't mean to uh-"  
  
He cuts himself off when Zyre steps in and leans down, his breath ghosting over Germaine's lips. "Didn't you?"  
  
His teeth click shut and he swallows, looking at Zyre staring intently back at him, with heat catching between their bodies and a flush rising over his neck and probably his cheeks and his jaw chattering from nerves and fright.  
  
The mouth in front of him curls into a smug little smirk and his eyes are drawn down to the colour still spread all over the lips and drying on the man's chin and Germaine swallows thickly.  
  
"Ya mean to say something?", all the bravado in the world can't keep the hitch from Germaine's voice and he sees the moment Zyre's eyes turn dark with something more.  
  
"No, just do." Zyre kisses Germaine carefully, pushing enough to test, his tongue flicking out to lick at his mouth, ask for permission. Tingles run down his spine, thrilling and exciting as if he's doing something wrong. Germaine kisses back and then their hands are flying at each other, stripping off clothes and armor and tumbling under the covers hurriedly.  
  
Zyre breaks the kiss with a grin and Germaine's responding smile is mostly teeth. He jerks when warm hands trail down his sides, rubbing small circles on his jutting hip bones. He wraps an arm around Zyre's back, threading his fingers into his hair to pull him back down for a kiss and he moans into the man's mouth when fingers wrap around his cock.  
  
Zyre smirks against his lips, starting on a fast pace, pumping him dry, near painful. He twists his palm over the crown and Germaine’s hips thrust up involuntarily with a gasp. Zyre pulls back, leaving him needing and Germaine glares up at him.  
  
Then his jaw drops when Zyre takes the hand from his waist and sucks on his fingers wetly. His tongue dips between each finger and Germaine wouldn’t be able to swallow even if he could, mouth dry as a desert.  
  
He moves his fingers experimentally and Zyre hums, pleased. Germaine pushes his fingers to Zyre’s tongue, feeling it twitch and yield, then hooking a finger over the cheek, tilting Zyre’s head slightly. He sees the man’s eyes close, letting Germaine have his way and that makes a knot tie up in his belly.  
  
He pulls his fingers out and reaches down to take both dicks in his sticky palm. It seems to knock Zyre’s breath out of his lungs and he leans down to let his head nestle in Germaine’s shoulder.   
  
Slowly they settle into a rhythm, thrusting into Germaine’s fist, pants and groans filling up the small room. Germaine lets out a breathy moan when Zyre mouths at his neck, feels teeth nip at him.  
  
Then Zyre’s hand is wrapping around them too, closing in the space and thrusting a bit faster. Germaine throws his head back, gripping Zyre’s hair tightly and spills in their palms. He shudders, gulping down breath and waits for the stars to fade from his eyes when Zyre lets out a strangled moan and collapses on top of him.  
  
Germaine loses most of his breath in a huff and wraps the hand not trapped between them around Zyre and rolling them on their side. He watches as the flush fades from Zyre’s face, most of his makeup faded out from the sweat.   
  
He swallows and wipes his hand in the sheets, they’re gonna need washing anyway, and pulls an edge to wipe it up. Zyre raises a brow at him and he clears the sweat along with it all. He grins ruefully, “You look good with your makeup all smeared.”  
  
Zyre laughs then, full bellied and Germaine just feels embarrassed until lips seal over his. It’s slow and unhurried and he wants to melt into it. Zyre presses close, tangling their legs together.   
  
Zyre breaks the kiss, “I can fix it up tomorrow if you want.”  
  
Then it’s Germaine’s turn to laugh.


	8. Kabr/Praedyrh/Pahanin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - until the last second
> 
> anal sex, kissing, crying

Praedyth clawed at Pahanin’s back, leaving behind angry marks as he was held up against the wall. Each thrust of Phanin’s hips sending a burst of stars in his eyes and Praedyth could do little more than hold on and shiver from pleasure in Pahanin’s arms.   
  
He could hear the hunter whisper in his ear, sweet words, loving words, pleads and promises to reach up and pluck out the moon and the stars to give them if only Praedyth asked and Praedyth chokes back a sob. His cock twitches and spurts against his stomach and he hides his tears in Pahanin’s shoulder as he feels the other stutter and spill into him after a few more thrusts.  
  
He cries and hugs Pahanin tightly and he hears Pahanin keen pitifully and hold him, shushing him and carding his fingers through his hair and down his back. There’s a creek behind them and then there’s more hands holding them both, herding them towards the bed.  
  
Lips kiss down his spine and Pahanin pulls away slowly, wiping his tears away with a thumb. Broader palms hold him around the stomach, caressing his sides and slowly his sobbing clears to hiccups and Praedyth can lean back against Kabr’s chest without guilt wracking him.  
  
Kabr leans in to whisper in his ear. Praedyth barely hears, shaking his head. Not now, maybe not ever. He can’t bear to think back on the dreams (visions, only ever visions taunting him).  
  
He twists in the titan’s hold, taking his face in his hands and kissing him quiet. He can’t take questions, any more and he’ll break. Kabr seems to understand and tightens his hold, hiking him up in his lap.   
  
  
Praedyth gasps when Kabr bites his lip and then an urgency hits him like a thunderstorm. He fumbles with Kabr’s shirt, tearing it off and Kabr starts to tell him to calm down but he’s already sealing their lips together again.  
  
He drags his fingers down Kabr’s chest, around his waist, up his back and drinks up the groans like he’s parched. He hoards ever little sound he can coax out of Kabr, holding them close, searing them into his mind until all the dreams and nightmares have been pushed out.  
  
He shivers when Pahanin presses up close and he lets Kabr’s lips go to lean over to mouth at Pahanin’s neck. They hold him close, skin to skin and he can almost pretend it’s not a race against time to keep them close, to savour them until they are both gone and Praedyth will be alone and forgotten.


End file.
